


I Heard it Through the Grapevine

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [72]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's amazing what you overhear in the bathroom... even at UNCLE HQ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Heard it Through the Grapevine

It’s not every day that your life changes.  You never know what or when it might happen and, to be honest, I’m not sure I’d want it to happen if we were given notice.  I like routine.  It’s comforting, it’s familiar, it’s… well, routine. 

My name is Lawrence Jennings.  For twenty years, I’ve worked in the filing department of UNCLE Exports, aka the UNCLE.  I’m a small cog in a much bigger machine and that suits me just fine.  I leave home the same time, after kissing the wife and giving the dog a pat.  I take the same bus, walk the same route and pick up the same badge five days a week, unless there’s a holiday.

At lunch I eat in the employee’s dining hall, my choice dictated by the day of the week.  Monday, it’s the chicken and dumpling stew, Tuesday, the hot roast beef and gravy sandwich, Wednesday, the hot pot, and so on.  I don’t find it boring or old.

After lunch, I head to the men’s washroom and take care of business.  I’m not giving to reading papers or killing time.  It’s not the most cheerful of places and I have no desire to linger any longer than is necessary, especially if Old Man Hodgkin from Accounting has been there beforehand.  The ventilation isn’t what it could be.

And therein lies the cause of all of my trouble.

It was a bad day from the start.  I kissed the dog and gave my wife a part on her backside.  The bus broke down and I was force to take a taxi to work.  The expense wasn’t bad, but I left my briefcase in the back of the cab.   There wasn’t anything in it of importance, but I’d had it for years.  It took me a long time to track it down that morning and because of that, I left late for lunch.

When I got there, my usual choice, steamed haddock, was gone and I was left with Chicken ala King or a rubbery-looking pork chop.  It wasn’t any wonder that my stomach disagreed with me and sent me hurrying to the restroom, only to reel back from the lingering fumes left by Hodgkin’s wake.

Coughing, I climbed up onto the sink to see if I could open the vent anymore and that’s when my bad day went to downright rotten.

“I tell you.  I’m sick of it and I’m not taking it anymore.”

The ventilator acted like a corridor from the dead files room to this bathroom.  Hardly anyone goes in there now that Miss Willis and Mr. Boxer have gotten married.  There was a time there, though, when using the restroom was like going to see one of ‘those’ kinds of movies, if you know what I mean.

“We all hate him, but what can we do?  He’s our boss.”

“He’s not mine and I’m getting tired of his damn elitist attitude?   I’m taking him out.  Stupid Commie bastard.  He’s messed with me for the last time.  Now we play the game my way.”

I realized them that he must be talking about Mr. Kuryakin.  I didn’t know that man personally, but he’d always treated me in a professional manner

“You mean, kill him?  Are you out of your mind?  You can’t be serious.  Besides, how are you going to succeed when countless THRUSH agents have failed?”

“He’ll never see it coming from one of us.  And you heard Hinkson say that I could be at the top of my class if I stopped cutting corners.  He’ll never know what happened.”

“Oh no,” I gasped and then realized if I could hear them, they could hear me.  I hurriedly got down from the sink and started for the door, but I could hear someone – them- approaching.  I ran for the last stall, locked the door and climbed up onto the toilet.  In the next two minutes, I remembered every prayer I thought I’d forgotten.

“Who’s in here?”   I recognized ‘the killers’ voice.

“More like what died in here?  What a stink!”

The first stall door was kicked open and I stuffed my tie into my mouth to keep from moaning out loud.  I was a dead man for sure.  These Section Two men were just short of trained assassins.

“What do they feed these people down here?”

“They are bottom feeders, they get what we don’t or can’t eat.”  The killer again.  I took exception to his distain.

“There’s no one in here.  Come on, before I die from the smell. ”

The voices moved away, but I stayed frozen in place.  I heard the bathroom door bang open again and someone swear.  They had been expecting someone, me, to try and bolt.  The killer was apparently annoyed at my caution.

I had nearly lost the feeling in my legs when the door opened again.

“Lawrence, are you in here?”  At the blessed sound of my coworker, I stiffly climbed off the toilet and limped out of the stall.  “What’s wrong?  You look like death warmed over.”

“Something I ate,” I managed to mumbled.  Then Reggie came in and Old Man Hodgkin followed.  He had the look of a man on a mission and that was my exit cue. 

I shuffled back to my desk and tried to calm my racing heart.  There were no strangers hanging around; no one who looked even faintly out of place was in the room.  That in itself was reassuring.

My boss came over then and placed a hand on my shoulder.  “Niles tells me you had a bad reaction to your lunch.  Would you like to go home?”

“No, sir.  I’ll be fine.”  He nodded, apparently satisfied.  When I was sure no one was paying the least amount of attention to me, I got out an office directory.

My hand trembled as I dialed a number and waited

“Solo here.”  I nearly dropped the receiver.  I didn’t think he’d answer his own phone.  “Hello?”

“H-e-ello, Mr. Solo.”  I took a deep breath.  “You don’t know me, but…”

               

QQQQQ

 

I’d never been up beyond the third floor of our building and it was amazing how differently it looked as you went higher in the building.  Our hallways were downright warm and welcoming as opposed to theirs.  We had wooden doors and carpets.  They had sliding sheet metal and coldness.  I supposed it helped them do their job. 

A young man had come to accompany me up to Section Two.  I worried that this might be one of the men I’d heard talking, but a bit of petty conversation fixed that.  He had a pleasant drawl and fast smile.  He led the way past groups of armed men and women.

“Are you expecting trouble?” I whispered.  Perhaps they already knew of the plan to hurt Mr. Kuryakin.

“No, this is standard operating procedure,” he reassured me as we stopped by a desk.  The young girl sitting there was dark haired and so serious looking that I wanted to tell her a joke just to see if her face would crack.  “Here we are.”

“He’s waiting for you.”   

“Thank you, Miss.”  I smiled at the dark-haired lady.  She didn’t smile back as my escort pushed me forward.  How sad to go through the day that somber.

“You go right in.”  My escort stepped aside as the door slid open.

“Aren’t you coming, too?”  Suddenly anxiety clenched my gut again with iron claws.

“It’s not my party.  Don’t worry.  He doesn’t bite… often.”  He gave me a little push and I walked through the door, a little amazed at how it parted just as I got there.

Then I realized I wasn’t in Mr. Solo’s office.  This was Mr. Waverly’s office and he was sitting right there, right in front of me.  I’m not ashamed to say that I nearly burst into tears.

I must have looked bad because suddenly I was being ushered into a chair and someone was calling for water.

“I’m okay,” I murmured as I sat and breathed deeply.  “It’s just been an unusual day.”

“I wish I could say the same.”  Mr. Solo offered me a glass of water and I took it gratefully.  Even the water tasted better up here.  “Seldom a day goes by that someone isn’t taking a pot shot at me or my partner.”

“Now, Mr. Jennings, what is this I hear about one of our own agents planning to attack Mr. Kuryakin?”  Mr. Waverly’s voice was gravely, but not unpleasant to listen to.  It was comforting in a way.

“Tell us what happened in your own words,” Mr. Solo invited with an encouraging smile, so I did.

At the end of it, both Mr. Solo and Mr. Waverly were solemn.  “One of our own, Mr. Solo?”

“I’d hate to think it, but this is a competitive business.  Illya pushes the men hard, but I didn’t think this hard.”

“Where is Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo?”

“He should just be getting in from the airport.”  Mr. Solo walked over to a console and pressed a button.

“Reception.” The speaker on the desk came to life and I jumped, just a little

“Has Mr. Kuryakin checked in yet?”

“Speak of the devil.”  There was a pause and another voice came over the speaker.

“Yes, Napoleon.”

“Illya, would you mind joining me in Mr. Waverly’s office?”

“Do I have time for a cup of coffee?”

“No.  I’ll have some waiting for you.”  Mr. Solo clicked the speaker off and then went out the door.  He returned a moment later.  “Lisa is going to take care of it personally.”

“Very good, Mr. Solo.”

Mr. Kuryakin arrived within the next few minutes and looked, as my grandfather would have said, like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet.  There was a smudge on one cheek that I didn’t think was dirt.  One eye was puffy and it looked as if he’d not seen a bed in a week.

“Are you all right, Mr. Kuryakin?”  Mr. Waverly was immediately alerted and I knew what he was thinking.  Heck, I was thinking it, too.

“Just a little tired, sir.  However, everything went--” Then he stopped as he noticed me for the first time.  “Mr. Jennings, am I correct?”

“You are, sir.”  He offered his hand and we shook. 

“Mr. Jennings has a little something to tell you, Illya.”  The coffee arrived and Mr. Solo took it for the stern-faced receptionist.

I give him credit.  Mr. Kuryakin listened to every word I said and didn’t disregard anything.  When I came to the end, he looked confused.

“What’s wrong, Illya?”  Mr. Solo sat very close to his partner, as if he was trying to communicate silently with him.”

“To be honest, I’m trying to remember when I last taught a class.  It’s been almost a year.”

“As I recall, it was a real bear and you did have a couple of agents fail it.”  Mr. Kuryakin nodded in response.   “They have to be talking about you.”

“That’s a long time for a grudge”

“I’m afraid, just the opposite in my opinion.”  Mr. Waverly had chosen his pipe over a cup of coffee and was busy filling the room with smoke.  “Grudges take time to fester.  Had he come to you initially, you might have been able to improve upon the situation.”

“Mr. Waverly is right, partner.  Wars have been started over smaller things.”

“What do we do?”

“If this agent has decided to put his words into action, then he will act soon.  Illya, you deserve a little down time.  Why don’t you take a few days off?”

“But, Napoleon –“

“Call it in and I’ll sign it.”

I didn’t know what they were talking about, but they did and that was important.  At least Mr. Kuryakin would be safe.

I raised my hand a little.  “I hate to ask this, but what about me?” 

Mr. Solo smiled and a warm sense grew in my stomach, like when you awoke from a bad dream and had your mother sitting beside you.  “I want you, Mr. Jennings, to hang around the Canteen and see if you recognize the voices you heard.”

“Wouldn’t it look a little odd for a file clerk to be in the Canteen?”  The caffeine seemed to be kicking in for Mr. Kuryakin.

“I’ll think of something.  In the meantime, you go home and rest.  I’ll be by later to… debrief you.”

“No Italian.  I’ve had my fill of it.”

Again, I didn’t know what they were talking about and didn’t care.  I’d delivered my message and the wheels had been set into motion.

 

QQQQ

 

The next day I reported as usual, but there was a message for me to see my supervisor.  Worried that my absence had caused a problem, I immediately went to him, hat in my hands.

“What are you playing at, Mr. Jennings?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Yesterday a Section Two agent comes down and escorts you upstairs and today I have a request from Mr. Solo that you report to him for a special assignment.  You aren’t thinking of heading upstairs, are you?  Is it money?  I can talk to payroll.  You are due for raise.”  He seemed a little frantic.  “Mr. Jennings… Lawrence, you are a vital part of our department and I would hate to lose you.”

At first, I didn’t know what to do.  I should protest and yet, it was high time he took notice of me.  “That would be very kind of you, sir, and most welcomed.”  I needed a cover story.  “Mr. Solo asked me if I was familiar with an antiquated form of filing that apparently is still the norm in Section Two.  He had consulted with Personnel and noted my longevity and thought I might still be familiar with it.  I was and he said something about a reorganization project.  I didn’t realize he meant right now.”

There was a heavy sigh of relief.  “It’s always just in time with Section Two.”  He smiled at me.  It was a first!  Then he shook my hand.  Another first.  “Just come and see me upon your return and perhaps we can have a discussion about a promotion.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”  I left the department floating on a cloud of self-satisfaction.  It didn’t last long.

That afternoon I was knee deep in very old case files.  Napoleon, he asked me to call him that.  Imagine me on first-name basis with a Section Two agent and the top one at that.  He had approved of my cover story and managed to counterman a few tables at the far end of the canteen for me to work.

At first there were a few stares, but after a while, people started ignoring me.  To be perfectly frank, I wasn’t having a bad time.  The constant chatter of voices was a nice change from the silence of my department and the files were interesting to review.  However, I kept myself from being too engrossed.

I’d just opened a fat folder with X-14-P-G-5 typed on the cover.  Beside the label was scrawled - _Solo’s broken dreams_.  Insider were denied expense reports. That’s when I heard it.

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

It was the voice from the bathroom, I would have staked my life on it.   He was holding out a cup of something toward another man.  The man was holding a tray of food with one hand and reached out for the drink.  Instinctively, I knew the drink was doctored, so I did the only thing a panic-driven file clerk could do.  I threw a file at him, shouting, “Don’t do it!” at the top of my lungs.

The folder caught the tray and sent it flying. He sprang back, knocking the cup onto the man who was offering it.

The Section Two or Three, I couldn’t tell which, shouted as the liquid drenched his white shirt and he pulled his weapon and aimed it at me.  I knew in that moment he knew it had been me who’d overheard him in the bathroom.  I also knew it was probably my last few seconds of life.  I only hoped that Nona would play with Rascal and take him for walks.  He’d like that.

There was a gunshot and I buckled.  There was no pain, no sense of impact and then I realized it wasn’t me who’d been shot.  Mr. Kuryakin was standing there, his weapon drawn and the other agent on the floor, cradling his hand to his chest.

Suddenly, Napoleon was there and he seemed to take in everything at once.  He hurried to my side as a pair of Section Two or Three agents dragged the wounded man to his feet.  They really did look alike to me.

“Take him to Medical and secure him,” Napoleon ordered.  “Are you okay?”

“I am, thanks to Mr. Kuryakin.”  The agent joined us and helped me up.

“That was good shooting, Tex.”  Napoleon clapped him on the shoulder.  “But what are you doing here?”

“I had time to think about what had been said.  Mr. Trevor had said, Stupid Commie bastard. And we assumed he meant me.  However, then I realized I am no longer the only agent from a Communist county.  Mr. Chong Dewei Wen has also joined us from China and he had just recently taught a class on Weapon Concealment.”

“It wasn’t you they were talking about.”

“Will someone tell me what we are talking about?”  Mr. Wen had joined us by that point.

“It’s a long story, Chong Dewei,” Mr. Kuryakin said.  “But Mr. Jennings just saved your life.”

Everything became a bit of a blur after that. 

When questioned, Mr. Trevor confessed to his plot to kill Mr. Wen.  Such drama transpired because he’d gotten a bad grade and that had blocked his promotion to junior field agent.  He never would have made it in my school.  He was de-trained and sent away, along with his partner.  The coffee he’d offered Mr. Wen had been poisoned, but the heat of the coffee had rendered it inactive.  He should have paid more attention in Mr. Hinkson’s poison class.

I was given a nice promotion and a commendation.  I even moved up from the lower floors to ground level.  There is still comfortable routine, which makes me happy, but each day is a little different now.  Things are better at home and I smile a little more than I used to.  The food in the canteen is a bit better.   I see my old co-workers now and again, but I’m happy to say that I happily readjusted to my new surroundings and new position.

And I learned to never, ever listen at bathroom vents again.  A man can only take so much excitement.

 

 

 


End file.
